Harry Potter and the Adventures of JK Rowling
by anonymously.peeved
Summary: On hiatus.


**Harry Potter and the Adventures of J.K Rowling**

**Chapter 1: An Unexpected Journey**

Rowling sat frowning behind her desk, her pen twiddling absent-mindedly between her thumb and her index. The bane of writing, of course, was the almighty brain-killer called Writer's Block, and right now, she was suffering from a hefty dose of it. It was like her proverbial Dementor, borne from the heathen descent of Hell to climb, like a wraith in the night, to the chill of her room, and suck at her imagination and melt the organ of her inspiration. It didn't help that shipping orders were due soon and the editors were breathing down her neck. She needed to complete the last and final book – Deathly Hallows - fast, or else it would be the millions of fans worldwide who would make her a deathly hallow or maybe turn her into a horcrux.

"I am a fucking Santa Claus, for Chrissake. I am the modern incarnation that conjures pretty stories to make little twerps happy. That's what I am, fucking Santa Claus." Rowling grumbled.

If it was not for the fact that her two-timing husband and prick of a man decided to leave her with no viable financial means to support her children, she would never have picked up this crummy rabbit-pulling job. Not that she really minded the job now, of course. There were perks – like billion dollar incomes – for instance. And the money provides all kinds of conveniences granted only to the super-rich. Like declaring the Duchess of Cambridge's taste in "middle street fashion" to be plebian. Or injecting undertones of condescension into conversation with children with funny retardations at charity events. Or maybe just embarking on a deliberate wardrobe malfunction and gasping, with hands poised coquettishly against hips and toes pointing from killer heels, "Oops I did it again." Whatever. The possibilities were endless.

But Rowling was in no mood for frivolities. Right now, at this moment, she needed to write her novel. The tip of her pen scratched the coarse surface of her writing paper, but no jolt of lightning struck her. No sudden brilliance came in a flash. It was one of those nights where she simply cannot continue with the story.

Sighing, Rowling decided to take a break for the night. Stretching her arms above her head she looked around her room mournfully. It was a handsome room, with a fine marble fireplace facing the long sash windows, firmed closed against the autumn chill. With a slight shiver, Rowling got up and moved over to the windows, looking out at the thin mist that was pressing itself against the glass. It was then, as she stood with her back to the room, that she heard a soft cough behind her.

She froze. The house was empty except for her children, but they were all to bed hours before now – and the soft cough didn't sound anything like Jessica, Mackenzie or David. It was a girl's cough, and it sounded young. Rowling wheeled around – to find a pretty girl of sixteen smiling awkwardly at her. Lots of bushy brown hair, frizzled like she just touched a Tesla coil, denim jeans, striped turtleneck, and in her right hand, a thin, nondescript wooden strip. As soon as the girl saw Rowling turning around, she stashed the wooden strip hastily into her pocket, and quickly walked forward and held out her hand.

"Hello, Ms Rowling. Sorry for the sudden appearance, but I'm Hermione Granger, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

Rowling looked at the girl in front her. She meant to return the compliment and shake her hand, but instead, she screamed.

"Who the hell are you! Get away from me!"

Hermione hastily took a step back.

"I'm sorry if I startled you Ms Rowling, but it's a really long story. I truly am Hermione - the Hermione Granger - but there is no time to explain, and I am afraid you are in grave danger. Please, you need to believe me, I'm here to help you."

These words did not seem to calm Rowling down at all. She looked like she was positively about the faint.

"Ms Rowling, please. You need to come with me. Voldemort may arrive at any moment – I cannot explain right now, but please, we need your help. If you do not leave now, then you will never be able to – if not for your sake, then do it for your children."

Suddenly, there was a swish, and two silhouettes materialized in midair.

"STUPEFY!"

There was a flash of red light and Rowling crumpled, her body hitting the floor with a loud thud.

"Oh Ron! What did you just do! There was absolutely no need for force! Oh, we will be in so much trouble." Hermione wrung her hands in anguish.

"Can't help it now, can we, eh? Quick, Harry, grab her and Disapparate. I'll go with Hermione to get the midgets upstairs." Ron said. "Let's worry about daintiness later. You-Know-Who will probably not worry about it."

"All right, Ron. Quick, we don't have much time!" Harry said. With that, he grabbed Rowling and Disapparated.


End file.
